


Again and Again

by BreatheInBreatheOutMoveOn



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Spoilers, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreatheInBreatheOutMoveOn/pseuds/BreatheInBreatheOutMoveOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History repeats, and while the small details are arbitrary in their changes, the important things will always remain consistent.</p><p>He knows how her lips will taste the first time he draws the breath from her lungs.</p><p>He knows that her smile will somehow find some small scrap of him that has been left untouched across his destructive path, and that the pain that will follow cuts through his resolve just as easily. </p><p>He knows he will take her hand and her life and her heart and her spirit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again and Again

**Author's Note:**

> I fixed a few errors and added a bit of text, notes at the end!

 

History repeats, and while the small details are arbitrary in their changes, the important things will always remain consistent.

He knows how her lips will taste the first time he draws the breath from her lungs.

He knows that her smile will somehow find some small scrap of him that has been left untouched across his destructive path, and that the pain that will follow cuts through his resolve just as easily. 

He knows he will take her hand and her life and her heart and her spirit.

He will carve her body into an effigy of his failures and mistakes, and she will accept the scars willingly, and it will destroy what is left of him in the process. 

She will die. Just as she has always died.

Once it was in a war, another time in flames, thrice she has took her own life. A callous part of him was not surprised.

He thinks he can only bend a thing so many times before it breaks. 

He is old. And so tired. But his exhuastion will not preclude the repetitious march of time.

 

"What name should I put on it?" 

He knows her voice before the first syllable can drop from her lips into the space between them, and the sound snaps his spine into a straight metal rod and jerks his chin up from where it is tucked into the wool scarf at his neck.

She is the same as she has always been- _will_ always be. 

Green eyes are dancing above freckled cheeks, the fingers of her left hand wiggling the empty styrofoam cup that she holds out three inches from his nose. 

The sight is as beautiful as it is agonizing. A million burning suns- and it knocks the air from his lungs as thoroughly as a blade plunged between his ribs, deboweling him with a single flicker of her emerald gaze. 

 

He thought the last time was an end.

It has been twenty six years, and he has spent the last five convincing himself that her absence was a symptom of a conclusion to their repetitive dance. 

But here she is, standing before him. And she is real and alive and he is a fool for wishing he could free her from this. 

 

He can leave. He can walk the five short steps between her and the frosted glass door and exit her life forever.

He hasn't even given her his name.

Perhaps, if he leaves she will have full life. Perhaps, he can give her the things that he has always taken away, just this once. Perhaps, she will forget the stranger that walked into this place and left without a name.

He  _should_ leave.

"Solas." The name strikes the air like a symbol, and it draws a smile from her lips that fractures is broken mask. 

She tilts the styrofoam cup to the left, spelling his name with a fine tip black marker.

"Solas." She repeats, holding the blocky letters out for him to see.

The sound of his name on her lips almost sends him to his knees, and he is left trembling at the counter gripping its edge with white knuckles.

She turns the cup to her side of the counter, squinting thoughtfully at the name she as whispered a thousand times and forgotten, and for a second he thinks-  _wishes-_ that he sees some sort of cognition. The flash of recognition flickering behind those eyes, but it is gone as quickly as it is vague, and she is turning from him, walking to the back of the store without another word.  

He can hear the whir of a machine, the fizzing of hot liquid, and after a moment it is followed by the slapping of shoes on tile floor and she is back with the same styrofoam cup thrust into the space between them, steam pouring from the uncapped lid. 

"Solas." Again his name rolls from her tongue, and he dies with her a thousand times.

 

It matters little  _who_ or  _where_  she is when she finds him. 

At first she was a Herald,  and he willingly complied when she broke his throne. 

She has won a god's heart and he cannot deny her when she comes to him and propositions him.

He knows it is too late. Her life is ensnared in the Dread Wolf's fate and it will end as it has always ended, and it will break him as it has always broken him.

But  _oh_ how he would give up a thousand years in Arlathan, if it afforded her one lifetime in which she did not cross this wolf's path. _  
_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A short little thing that was bouncing around in my brain, please leave feedback, I hope you all enjoyed!


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